


A bright spot

by IntoTheMiddleDistance



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Caring Greg Lestrade, Drug Abuse, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Mycroft Being a Good Brother, Mycroft Holmes Has Feelings, Pre-Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade, implied future Mystrade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-14
Updated: 2020-06-14
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:13:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24638134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IntoTheMiddleDistance/pseuds/IntoTheMiddleDistance
Summary: Set pre-series 1, Mycroft and Greg have never met.Sherlock has only been showing up at Greg's crime scenes for a few months, and this time he shows up high out of his mind and collapses. Greg saves his life. Afterwards, Mycroft is by Sherlock's side in the hospital when a get-well gift from Greg arrives.Later, Greg comes to visit Sherlock at the hospital and the two men finally meet. The attraction is obvious, and Greg makes the first move.
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes & Greg Lestrade, Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade, Sherlock Holmes & Greg Lestrade
Comments: 7
Kudos: 141





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Un beta'd, un Brit-picked. 
> 
> While there's no actual drug use described in this fic, it is alluded to and there is a depiction of the aftermath, mostly in Chapter 1. So if that is something that triggers you please be warned.

Up until his phone rang, DI Gregory Lestrade had been looking forward to a peaceful Friday evening after what had been a very long week. His plans had extended as far as a six-pack of his favorite beer, Chinese takeaway, and going to bed at a decent hour. Instead he was standing on a street corner with his frozen hands in his pockets, wishing he’d worn a thicker jacket and trying to deal with a homicide case. And to top it all off, he had a feeling Sherlock Holmes would probably show up.

The self-styled “consulting detective” had appeared at one of Greg’s crimes scenes two months ago, called Greg and his entire team a bunch of idiots, and solved the case almost instantly. Donovan and Anderson had been furious, but Greg had been intrigued, and impressed. Despite what Sherlock said (frequently), Lestrade was a decent detective in his own right. But Sherlock Holmes was on another level entirely. The man had been sporadically showing up at Greg’s crime scenes ever since. Lestrade got the feeling he was the only DI who hadn’t immediately shown Sherlock the proverbial door when he showed up

The third time Sherlock had helped solve a case, Greg had gotten a phone call afterwards, from an unlisted number. He usually wouldn’t have bothered to pick up, would’ve let the person leave a message or give up, but after his phone rang continuously for over a minute he gave in.

“Detective Inspector Lestrade,” a man’s voice had said, “Your support of Sherlock Holmes is much appreciated.”

The tone of the man’s voice sent a pleasant shiver down Greg’s spine. He’d been married to a woman, sure, but his romantic attractions had always gone both ways. And then the man with the beautiful voice had hung up.

Greg had saved the number, just in case. When he’d asked Sherlock about it, the man had groaned dramatically and called the mystery man his sworn enemy. Then he’d informed Greg that he knew the identity of the murderer based on the victim’s shoelaces, and the DI had pushed all thoughts of the mysterious man with the sexy voice out of his head. 

Lestrade shook his head sharply to clear it, so he could focus on the case at hand. Sure enough, Sherlock Holmes was coming up the pavement towards the crime scene. But Greg could immediately see something was wrong. The man was weaving dangerously from side to side, stumbling. His eyes didn’t look focused. Acting on instinct, Greg bolted towards Sherlock and caught him as he fell, easing the man’s dead weight to the ground. Up close, it was easy to see that the consulting detective was high out of his mind. One sleeve of his jacket had shifted, and the DI could see track marks on the arm.

“Sherlock, what the fuck!” Greg said. He twisted around to see Donovan close behind him. “Call an ambulance!”

Sally took out her phone.

Lestrade turned back to Sherlock just as he seemed to be trying to say something, but his eyes abruptly closed and his head lolled.

“Shit, shit!” Greg swore, grabbing the nearest wrist and searching for a pulse. It was there but erratic. Greg turned to Sally again.

“The ambulance will be here in five,” she said.

“We may not have that long,” Greg said, “get me the med kit from the car, and see if someone’s got an AED. His heart rate is crazy, I’m afraid we may have to jump him.”

Though she'd made her feelings on Sherlock abundantly clear, multiple times, Sally Donovan was at heart a good person. She ran off in the direction of the squad car. Greg turned back to Sherlock, unconscious on the pavement.

“What did you take, you brilliant fucking bastard? What the hell did you take?”

Checking Sherlock’s pulse one more time, Greg shifted his attention to the ridiculously long coat Sherlock always wore. If he’d been using drugs on the way to the crime scene, it was possible there would be residue on the inside of the sleeves, or even leftover pills hidden in the pockets. Lestrade always kept an extra pair of latex gloves in his back pocket at crime scenes, and he put them on to examine Sherlock’s jacket. No pills, no residue as far as he could tell, but there was a piece of paper in the left pocket. It was list. Greg didn’t even recognize all the words on it, but he knew enough to know they were the names of different drugs, legal and illegal, and beside each name was a meticulously recorded dosage. He stared in numb shock at the paper.

“Dear God, Sherlock,” his voice actually wavered a bit, “ _please_ tell me you didn’t actually take all this.”

He checked the man’s pulse again and was relieved to find it at all. There was a siren in the background. Greg startled when Donovan set the med kit down and knelt beside him.

“Couldn’t find an AED,” she said, “but the ambulance is almost here anyway,” and then, catching sight of the list, “Is that what he took? It’s a miracle he wasn’t dead the moment he hit the ground!”

“Yeah,” Greg agreed vaguely, keeping his thumb over the pulse in Sherlock’s wrist.

As soon as the ambulance pulled up, everything started to blur together for Greg. He remembered the medics coming, gently removing his grip on Sherlock, and bundling the unconscious man into the ambulance. He felt like he should go with them, but was reminded by Sally that he was still at a crime scene that needed his attention. The ambulance sped off into the distance, and Greg reluctantly stood and walked back to the crime scene.

By the time they’d bagged all the evidence and come to all the conclusions that were possible, evening had turned into night and Greg was both physically and mentally exhausted. But he still wanted to swing by the hospital and check on Sherlock if it were possible. It blew Greg’s mind that anyone could survive taking what Sherlock had taken. If he’d survived. For all Lestrade knew, Sherlock Holmes might have died on the ambulance on the way to the hospital.

********

Thanks to a minor miracle, Sherlock had not died on the way to the hospital, nor was he currently dead, though he had been revived once right after they’d moved him from the ambulance to his hospital bed. Mycroft Holmes found the consistent beeping of his brother’s heart monitor incredibly reassuring. Fortunately, Sherlock had taken the advice Mycroft had given him after his last overdose and written down everything he’d taken, which was making his condition slightly easier for the doctors to treat. Although not overdosing again would have been preferable. When he woke up, Sherlock had a long stint in rehab to look forward to, rehab that would no doubt fail just as it had last time, and the time before that, and the time before that.

Mycroft rubbed his eyes wearily. Even he, with all his brilliance, didn’t know what to do to help his little brother. Sherlock’s clever mind and complete lack of social graces made for a problematic combination. Mycroft would offer Sherlock a government position in a second if he thought there was any chance of his brother taking it. That was, after all, how he occupied his own mind. 

He had hoped, once Sherlock starting solving cases for Scotland Yard, that those would be enough to keep him engaged, keep his mind busy. The older Holmes had been incredibly relieved when, after Sherlock’s attempts to help had been rebuffed by other Inspectors, DI Gregory Lestrade had allowed Sherlock to work with his team. Rather than being put out by Sherlock’s condescending manners, Lestrade seemed amused by them.

Sherlock had worked with the DI on several cases before Mycroft had contacted the man to express his thanks, however briefly. Since then, Mycroft had found himself turning the CCTV cameras towards Inspector Lestrade and his crime scenes more and more frequently, even if Sherlock wasn’t contributing to the investigation. The DI was interesting enough on his own, intelligent in his own way though clearly no genius. Mycroft had observed that Lestrade did usually end up solving his cases correctly, though it took him a good deal longer than it would have taken Sherlock.

In the privacy of his mind Mycroft could admit there was another reason he kept turning CCTV cameras to watch Gregory Lestrade. The older Holmes rarely felt attraction to other people, especially not of a romantic nature, but DI Lestrade was _gorgeous_. He would never hear the end of it if Sherlock figured out he liked the Inspector, had a _crush_ on a man he’d never met. Mycroft was honestly a bit disgusted with himself over the whole thing.

However, it was fortunate that Mycroft kept CCTV cameras turned towards the DI, because that was how he’d seen what happened to Sherlock. He’d been able to meet the ambulance in the hospital and get Sherlock installed in a private room with absolutely no visitors allowed. And now Mycroft was indebted to Gregory Lestrade for not only tolerating his brother working his cases, but also for saving his brother’s life. Mycroft was deeply touched by the genuine concern the DI seemed to have for Sherlock and he had very little doubt that if the man hadn’t acted so quickly, Sherlock would have died. And as much as his little brother was a thorn in his side at times, Sherlock’s death would have been devastating to Mycroft.

A knock on the door startled Mycroft out of his contemplations.

“Excuse me, Mr. Holmes,” said a nervous-looking nurse, “there was a gentleman who came up looking for Sherlock. He left when I told him there were no visitors allowed. But then a little while later he was back and he brought this,” the nurse set a small, shoddily-wrapped basket just inside the door. “He asked me to make sure Sherlock Holmes got it.”

“Thank you,” said Mycroft, nodding in her direction. The nurse fled the room as quickly as she’d come. As soon as the door was closed, Mycroft went over and picked up the gift. It was clearly a hastily thought-out, last minute affair. There was no doubt in Mycroft’s mind who it had come from. Seeing that the card on top of the basket had ‘Holmes’ scribbled on it instead of ‘Sherlock,’ Mycroft allowed himself to unwrap the gift and open the envelope.

The card was the type that could be found in any drugstore throughout the country, emblazoned with “Get Well Soon” and some generic flowers. Mycroft opened it and read the message.

_I know exactly how you feel about sentimental drivel like this, but I wanted to say it anyway. I think I’m entitled, seeing as you almost died at my crime scene. They told me no visitors and to be honest, I don’t really think seeing me would be a huge pick-me-up anyway. So instead, here’s some stuff from the Tesco’s across the street that I don’t really think you’ll appreciate, but it made me laugh so you’ll just have to deal with it.. Get Well Soon, Sherlock. From Lestrade the Idiot (Greg)._

The frank message startled a laugh out of Mycroft. He couldn’t remember the last time anything had made him really chuckle. Some of the items in the basket had notes on them in Lestrade’s handwriting, and Mycroft read them all as he unpacked the gift. The Cadbury chocolate had no note and Sherlock wouldn’t miss it, so Mycroft indulged himself and enjoyed the chocolate bar before continuing.

 _I can practically see you rolling your eyes about these_ was attached to a pack of Smarties. Several boxes of heavily caffeinated tea had the thought _because caffeine is a drug too, you know, and much more socially acceptable._ The Inspector had written a disclaimer on the bag of Wine Gums - _yes Sherlock I know they’re not actually alcoholic; it was more about the name._ Lastly there were two pocket-sized books; one was crossword puzzles and one was Sudoku. 

“Who knows, maybe while you’re recovering it’ll take you a couple minutes to get through the whole book,” Mycroft read aloud, surprised to find he was chuckling again.

It seemed Inspector Lestrade was not only attractive, but he also had a sense of humor that Mycroft found incredibly appealing. He carefully repacked the basket, though Sherlock would know he had opened it. But Mycroft wanted the pleasure of watching his brother read the Inspector’s little notes. It would be a bright spot in what was bound to be a long recovery process.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is mostly setting up the circumstances for the boys to (finally) meet in the next one. Going to fan those tiny sparks of maybe-attraction into a little flame!


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After visiting the hospital every day for a week, Greg finally gets lucky. Sherlock is alive, and his brother Mycroft is incredibly attractive and willing to go for coffee sometime.

Greg had been checking in at the hospital every day for a week now, just to see if he could get any information on Sherlock. Aware of the effect he could have on women, he’d managed to charm the nurse who was on duty one night and had gotten a little information. Sherlock was alive and stable, at least, and Greg knew that rehab was almost certainly next. He definitely wasn’t letting Sherlock anywhere near one of his crime scenes until the man was clean.

Greg took the elevator up to Sherlock’s floor and headed for the nursing station. A tall man in an immaculate suit was speaking quietly with the nurse on duty. As Greg got closer he saw the man had red hair. It was a quirk, to be sure, but Greg had always had a thing for redheads. The man must have heard his footsteps because he turned towards him slightly and recoiled in surprise.

“Take your time, mate,” said Greg easily, “I’m in no hurry.”

The nurse on duty was not the one he’d charmed earlier that week.

“I’m sorry Mr. Lestrade, but what I told you yesterday remains true. Mr. Holmes is not accepting any visitors at this time.”

“That’s alright,” said Greg, “let him know I was here, would you?”

The tall, attractive redhead cleared his throat.

“Actually, Patricia, since it’s come up, I would like to put Detective Inspector Lestrade on the list of approved visitors,” he said.

Greg stared. That voice – he knew that voice. He had the man’s number saved in his phone as ‘Sexy Voice.’

“Of course, Mr. Holmes,” said the nurse politely.

The man turned completely towards Greg and held out a hand.

“Pleasure to meet you at last, Detective Inspector. My name is Mycroft Holmes.”

Completely astonished, Greg was slow to respond. After a long moment, he shook the offered hand, laughing nervously.

“Mr. Holmes, how nice to meet you. We’ve only ever talked on the phone, I think. Please, call me Greg.”

Now that he knew they were related he could see a subtle family resemblance. Mycroft must be Sherlock’s brother. Sherlock had never mentioned any family, but Greg had never asked either. Which was a shame, because if he’d asked earlier, he might have met Mycroft several months ago under better circumstances.

“If you don’t mind, gentlemen,” said the nurse, and Greg realized he was still standing in front of the nursing station holding Mycroft’s hand.

“Let’s talk over here,” he gestured with his free hand towards the small waiting area.

The urge to keep his hand intertwined with Mycroft’s was strong, but Greg’s sense of propriety kicked in and he reluctantly let go. Mycroft walked over to the waiting area in silence and sat down in one of the plastic hospital chairs. His posture remained perfect, his back ramrod straight. His suit didn’t even wrinkle. Greg dropped into the chair across from Mycroft and leaned forward slightly, closing the distance between them.

“So how is Sherlock doing, really? The best I’ve been able to get out of the nurses is that he’s alive and stable.”

“Those are both true,” said Mycroft, “he has finally recovered enough to be a complete nuisance to everyone who enters the room.”

Greg laughed out loud.

“He must be feeling better then,” he said, “I consider myself warned.”

“I want to thank you, Detective Inspector, for what you did for Sherlock – what you have done, beyond saving his life earlier this week. Allowing him onto your crime scenes to make deductions has done him a world of good, although I realize that might be hard to see, especially now.”

“I get it,” said Greg, “I can see how brilliant he is, could see it the first time he showed up and opened his mouth. I don’t mind having him around. But Mr. Holmes – “

“Mycroft.”

“Mycroft, I do have to tell you – I can’t have him on drugs at my crime scenes. If he ever shows up again and I see any signs that he’s using, I’ll turn him away, I don’t care how clever he is.”

“I respect you decision, Detective Inspector, and I agree with you completely. In fact I’m rather hoping that’s what will encourage him to stay clean this time. Previous trips to rehab have been - less than successful, for Sherlock. But I know he truly enjoys solving cases, and I can only hope that’s enough to make him stop using for good.”

Mycroft sounded sad, and Greg could only imagine how many times this had happened before, that Sherlock had overdosed and Mycroft had been forced to deal with the aftermath. He reached out and put his hand over Mycroft’s. The other man flinched and looked down in surprise, and Greg quickly withdrew.

“Sorry,” he said, “I just – “

“It’s quite alright,” said Mycroft, “You surprised me, is all. People don’t usually –“ he trailed off. “You surprise me, Detective Inspector.”

“Greg,” Greg said, covering Mycroft’s hand with his own again and giving it a gentle squeeze. “Please call me Greg.”

“Gregory,” said Mycroft, and Greg’s heart did something funny in his chest, “thank you. Thank you for caring about my brother.”

Greg could hear the unspoken subtext in Mycroft’s words. He was grateful to Greg for caring about Sherlock because not many people did. Greg suspected that most of the people who truly gave a shit about Sherlock Holmes were sitting in the hospital right now. He wondered how many people in the world cared about Mycroft. 

“Your gift basket was most amusing.”

Greg grinned. “I knew I’d think it was funnier than he would. I’m glad someone else was around to appreciate it.”

Mycroft smiled, so faintly Greg almost missed it. But, emboldened by that tiny smile and the fact that Mycroft hadn’t pulled his hand away from Greg’s, he asked,

“Would you like to go and grab a coffee?”

Mycroft shook his head.

“I can’t leave Sherlock alone in the hospital. He’s well enough to make deductions, which generally requires someone to do damage control afterwards. Also I’m quite certain that if he knew I’d gone, he’d do something rash like climb out the window.”

“I can believe that,” said Greg. Mycroft’s reasoning made perfect sense, but he couldn’t help feeling disappointed. “It was a bit forward of me to ask, I know.“

“I would be interested in getting coffee, after -”

“After this is over,” Greg filled in the blank. Mycroft nodded.

“After this is over. Perhaps I should give you my phone number. In case you need help removing Sherlock from a crime scene.”

“Or in case I want to ask you to coffee,” said Greg. “Actually, I already have your number. Saved it in my phone the first time you called, just in case it came up again.”

He pulled out his mobile and showed Mycroft the screen. The man’s eyes widened when he read the name above the number.

“I guess I can change the contact name from ‘Sexy Voice’ to ‘Mycroft Holmes,’ eh?”

Greg grinned. Then he typed up a quick text message. Mycroft’s phone dinged and he pulled it out of his pocket.

“I think Sherlock will have been discharged by Wednesday,” he agreed.

“It’s a date then,” said Greg, smiling warmly. He was rewarded by the slightest hint of a blush on Mycroft’s face.

“Would you like to come say hello to Sherlock? He was resting when I stepped out for a moment but I’m sure he’s awake now.”

There was a crash down the hallway, and both men flinched.

“Definitely awake,” Greg agreed, “shall we?”

The crash had been a nurse tripping over his own feet as he fled Sherlock’s room. Watching the man run down the hallway, Mycroft sighed deeply.

“He’s having an affair with one of the other nurses. They’re not as subtle as they think they are, but I wasn’t going to say anything. Sherlock, however, has no such scruples.”

Greg laughed a little. “You don’t say?”

When Greg entered the room behind Mycroft, Sherlock glanced up at them both and rolled his eyes.

“Good lord Mycroft, really? Attracted to the Detective Inspector? That’s so - sentimental.”

“And it’s none of your business anyway,” said Greg, because Mycroft had turned a deep shade of red. “Hello to you too, Sherlock, we did manage to solve the case without your assistance, thanks for asking, and you owe me an apology for showing up at my crime scene on drugs.”

He might have imagined it, but Greg thought that Sherlock looked a little bit contrite.

“Which by the way, will never happen again. If I even _suspect_ you’re on something when you show up, I will handcuff you, lock you in my squad car and not let you out till we’re finished. And even then I won’t tell you anything about the case. I’ll let Anderson tell you what he thinks instead.”

Sherlock groaned, and Greg fought off the urge to grin. The enmity between Sherlock and the forensic scientist had started the moment Sherlock had turned up, and had only gotten worse since then. Greg usually managed to keep them separated from each other at crime scenes. He figured threatening to stick Sherlock with Anderson was enough of a warning that the consulting detective would never show up high again.

“Are we clear?” Greg asked.

Sherlock glared daggers at him but reluctantly nodded his head.

“Clear,” he said, and muttered something under his breath that Greg chose to ignore. He smiled at Mycroft instead.

“I think I’ve said everything I came here to say. I am glad you’re recovering well, Sherlock. I’m sure I’ll see you back at my crime scenes again soon enough. And Mycroft, I’ll text you about coffee on Wednesday.” 

Greg smiled at Mycroft again, and got a tentative smile in return. He waved at Sherlock, who was pointedly not looking at Greg anymore. Then Lestrade left the hospital in high spirits. Sherlock seemed well on his way to recovery, Mycroft Holmes was gorgeous, and Greg had a date.

********

Sherlock had been moved from the hospital to a rehab facility just outside London on Wednesday morning, so the plan to meet for coffee was still intact. It was absolutely ridiculous for Mycroft to be nervous about meeting Gregory Lestrade for coffee. Completely illogical – people went out and got coffee together all the time. But Mycroft was not most people, he never had been. In his line of work, forming attachments could be dangerous, and caring was not an advantage. How many times had he said that exact thing to Sherlock growing up? No, Mycroft had learned to hide any semblance of his humanity behind a thick wall of detachment and condescension a long time ago. Gregory had just happened to catch him at a weak moment, incredibly sleep deprived and worried for his little brother. And damn it to hell if the man hadn’t strolled past Mycroft’s wall like it wasn’t even there.

Greg had been texting him ever since the hospital, just little things like “good morning,” and “it’s beautiful outside” and “could really use Sherlock on this case, how’s he doing today?” It was endearing. As a bonus, he could tell that it annoyed Sherlock every time he got a text from the DI.

“I can’t believe you’re actually going on a date with him,” said Sherlock.

“It’s not a date,” Mycroft said. “It’s a business meeting. If you’re going to continue to work with Inspector Lestrade, I need to know more about him.”

“You have other, better ways of getting information than _meeting him for coffee_ ,” Sherlock countered, “you’re the British government. Five minutes on a computer and you’ll have his entire history in your pocket. No, you _like_ him. It’s a date. And don’t muck it up.”

Mycroft turned to him in surprise.

“Gavin is the only person in the entirety of Scotland Yard who lets me on his crime scenes. If you mess that up for me I’ll never forgive you.”

That was as close as Sherlock had ever come to admitting he wanted Mycroft to be happy.

“His name is Gregory,” said Mycroft.

Sherlock waved him off. “Whatever his name is, you’re going to be late to meet him. Get out of here. I promise I’ll still be here when you get back. And the room will still be intact.”

Mycroft gave his little brother a long, searching look.

“Give me the lighter, Sherlock,” he said.

“It would have been a contained fire,” said Sherlock, bitterly dropping the lighter in Mycroft’s hand.

“Goodbye, brother mine. Try and keep yourself occupied with something legal while I’m gone. There’s always the books Gregory bought you.”

Sherlock snorted, “ah yes, the puzzle books. I could do them in my sleep.”

“Maybe you should try,” Mycroft retorted and then he left.

When he reached the coffee shop, Lestrade was already there, sitting at a little table in the corner.

“Mycroft, you made it!” He sounded pleased. “I guess Sherlock settled in alright at the rehab place?”

“He’s not going to burn it down just yet,” said Mycroft, and Greg chuckled.

“Well that’s a relief. I’d hate to be called away in the middle of this to deal with an arson case.” He laughs again, and Mycroft’s heart is already throbbing against his chest.

“Why don’t you go ahead and order? I put mine in already.” At that moment, the barista behind the counter called his name and Greg stood, pulled Mycroft into a brief hug, and said, “go get in line, Myc.”

And Mycroft’s brain short-circuited. He hadn’t had so much physical contact with another person in years, and no one had _ever_ shortened his name into a nickname. In a matter of seconds, Gregory Lestrade had gone from possible relationship to marriage material. Mycroft stood next to the table, immobile, until Greg came back with his coffee in hand.

“Alright there, Mycroft?” He asked, sounding genuinely concerned. Looking into Mycroft’s face, he seemed to realize the problem.

“It was the hug, wasn’t it? Fuck, I’m sorry, I should’ve remembered. You nearly jumped out of your skin when I touched your hand at the hospital.”

“It’s not – it’s okay, Gregory. It seems I’ll have to get used to being touched.”

“I’ll go slower, I promise. Look, you sit and I’ll go order your coffee. How do you take it?”

“Black, two sugars, no cream,” said Mycroft, and managed to sit. Greg flashed him a smile and got in the line to order. A few minutes later he returned with Mycroft’s coffee in hand, just as Mycroft had gotten his brain back online.

“Here you go,” Greg set the coffee and a pastry down in front of Mycroft, “figured I’d get a couple of pastries too, they just brought out a fresh batch and they looked delicious.”

“Thank you,” said Mycroft, taking a sip of his coffee. It was just the way he liked it.

They sat in companionable silence for a few moments, drinking coffee and eating pastries. It was a strange feeling, but Mycroft thought he might genuinely be enjoying himself. Everyone in his life always wanted something from him, but all Gregory wanted was to be friends. Mycroft hadn’t had a friend in a very long time.

Their eyes met across the table and Greg smiled at him again, taking a large bite of puff pastry.

“Might need to get another one of these,” he said, “they’re delicious. How’s yours?”

“Equally good,” Mycroft said. “Sherlock would say – “

“Myc,” said Greg, “I know that your brother is our only mutual acquaintance, but I didn’t ask you out for coffee to talk about him. I was sort of hoping to learn about you.”

Mycroft Holmes had negotiated peace treaties with world leaders and toppled governments without breaking a sweat. They didn’t call him the ‘Ice Man’ for nothing. He was unbreakable under pressure that would’ve (and sometimes did) sent lesser people running from the room. But he couldn’t think of a single thing to say to Gregory Lestrade, who was looking quite worried.

“Shit, I’ve messed up again, haven’t I?”

“No, you haven’t, I assure you.”

Greg did not look reassured.

“You – you want to know more about me. Well then the first thing you should know is I don’t have friends, and I’ve never had a nickname.”

Greg’s worried expression softened a bit. “If you don’t like it, I can stop.”

“It will take some getting used to,” Mycroft admitted, “but I don’t mind. I appreciate the thought, Gregory.”

“I’ll use it sparingly,” Greg said, “Just in case. And you do have friends – well, you’ve got one, anyhow.” He seemed a little shy suddenly. “Now, what else should I know about you? You’re a Holmes, so don’t even try to say you don’t already know everything there is to know about me. You could probably tell me things about myself that I don’t even know.”

“I know a great deal about you,” Mycroft admitted, “but I would like to hear it all from you. And I – I will try to reciprocate.”

Mycroft wanted to know everything about Gregory Lestrade. Obviously, he could learn a great deal just by looking at the man, but he wanted to hear everything from Greg’s lips. That implied _trust_ , a level of intimacy with another person that Mycroft had never had, and had never thought he wanted. But he wanted it now, with Gregory. And in return he wanted to tell Greg everything about himself, things not even Sherlock had deduced. Due to the nature of his work and his position in the government, there were so many things Mycroft couldn’t share. He was already an unequal partner in their relationship and it had barely begun. 

“There are – many things I can’t tell you,” he said. “My job is – officially, I’m a minor government official, but – “

Greg snorted. 

“Give me a little credit, Myc, I have some skills. The moment I set eyes on you I could tell you were someone important. I know you probably can’t talk very much about your job. There are parts of my job I can’t share either. But you’re more than just your job. I want to know everything you want to tell me.” 

He closed the gap across the table and took Mycroft’s hand in his. Mycroft looked at their conjoined hands and thought, rather absurdly, that he wanted nothing else in his life.

“I’ll go first,” said Gregory, and began to talk.

They sat in the little table in the corner of the coffee shop late into the night. Sometimes the conversation flowed easily and sometimes it didn’t, but the silences were never awkward. At some point Greg went and got another round of coffee and pastries. Mycroft had never enjoyed himself so much. He didn’t even realize how much time had passed until Greg said,

“It’s dark out! When did that happen?”

Mycroft checked his watch and saw it was nearly 9pm.

“I should be getting back to the rehab facility. Sherlock has no doubt spent the last hour at least devising a way to set the place on fire, even without the lighter I confiscated from him before I left.”

“Wait, he actually had a lighter?” Greg said, “Why am I not surprised?”

“The driver of the car we took to the rehab facility is a smoker who’s trying to quit. He’d discarded his lighter in the wastebasket in the car because it was mostly used up anyway, though not to someone with Sherlock’s skills.”

Greg laughed. “We’re doing it again,” he said “talking about Sherlock when we’re meant to be learning about each other.”

“Force of habit, I suppose.”

“I guess so,” Greg cracked a smile, “anyway, I do owe him one for invading my crime scene a couple months back. If I hadn’t met him, I would’ve never met you.”

“Most people would consider that a good thing,” Mycroft said. Greg’s face went very serious and he leaned towards Mycroft.

“Most people would be missing out on something wonderful,” he said, “I like you, Mycroft, and I’m very glad to know you.” 

Mycroft inhaled sharply, “Gregory, I –“ he didn’t seem to be able to say anything else, so he simply reached across the table and took the other man’s hand, the first time he’d initiated any contact between them. It was worth it to see Greg smile. 

“We’ll have to do this again soon,” he said, and chuckled a bit when his stomach growled. “Dinner, maybe, if we’re going to be meeting so late.”

“Are you asking me out, Gregory?”

“I absolutely am. Mycroft Holmes, would you go to dinner with me sometime?”

“Gregory Lestrade, I absolutely would.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My first time writing Mycroft/Greg, they're a favorite pairing of mine. This was originally intended to be a one-shot, but clearly that didn't happen. 
> 
> Comments/kudos/constructive criticism always accepted. Thanks for reading!


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